I had drank wine enough to give me a slight head ach and it was very much increased by both the children, Louisa and the baby who were so restless as to keep us awake nearly all night. But the pain went off in the morning. At the Office where I was occupied in Accounts, and Diary which has fallen very much into Arrears. Nothing of any particular consequence. Walk and home.

Read the sixteenth and last Satire of Juvenal which does not appear to be more than a skeleton. And incidentally turned to a letter of Pliny which charmed me. I must take him up too. I must dip myself in fully into the spirit of the Latin Classics at least.

Afternoon read part of Levesque’s History of Russia during the reign of Peter the great,1 and pursued the Correspondence between Voltaire and Mad. du Deffand. It wants amusement to me in most cases. Yet Voltaire is one of the most spirited of all letter writers.

Went to the Theatre in the Evening to hear the Maid of Judah and the Woods.2 I liked it much better on this representation. The quartette at the close of the first Act, a song of her’s in the Prison Scene, and the Chorus in the Trial are what I like the best, but I still persist in my opinion that the piece as a whole wants a decided general character.